H.J. Gaudreau - Betrayal in the Louvre (19 page)

Chapter 36

From the shadows of the abandoned gas station the Corsican watched the barn through his field glasses.  He watched Claude Rechaud enter the barn and fully expected him to appear moments later marching the two Americans to his car.  What he saw actually caused him to laugh.  The little American woman, looking very much like a Saturday morning cartoon character, crept around the corner of the barn and into the same door Claude had just slipped through.  A short time later she walked out of the barn and searched Claude’s car.  It couldn’t be!  Oh, this was good!  The American couple had overpowered Rechaud!  The Corsican couldn’t stop laughing. 

Soon the husband loaded two boxes into the trunk of his car and walked back inside the barn.  The Corsican, never one to miss an opportunity, quickly slipped out of the gas station, sprinted across the small bridge and peered through the cracks in the barn wall.  There was Claude, tied with an electrical wire. 

The Corsican silently made his way to the rear of the barn.  He paused, listened and then squeezed through a large gap next to the barn’s corner post.   The Americans and Claude were at the far end of a long hall.  Twenty feet and two junk cars stood between him and his targets.  As he watched the American raised his hands over his head and crashed a shovel down on something.  Had he just killed Claude?  It wasn’t an issue; in fact, it did make things a bit easier.  But still, it was a bit…well, odd.

“That should do it.” The woman was saying. 

“We’ll call the police from some phone box on the way and have them come out here.”  The husband replied. 

The police?  Hadn’t they just killed Claude?  The Corsican began to creep to the back of the first old car.  Bending low he looked underneath the cars to see Claude sitting on the ground, his hands tied behind him.  He seemed to be coming around from a knock on the head.  He was moaning softly with a few choice words in between moans.  The Corsican suppressed a laugh.

“I wonder who this guy is?” the American asked his wife.  In a moment he would be close enough.  He would take all three.  He began to creep past the first car.  Not fast enough.  Before the Corsican could get to the front of the car they were out of the barn.  The Corsican hurried to the door.  He opened it a crack, just in time to see Jim close the driver’s side door to their rented Citroën.  A moment later they were headed in the direction of Cheveuges. 

Closing the door he turned to the man on the ground.  Rechaud recognized him and immediately stopped moaning.  “What are you doing here you piece of shit,” he spat. 

“Claude, mon ami, you were careless.”  He whispered as he screwed a silencer on the end of a .32 caliber pistol.

Chapter 37

I

From Cheveuges to Paris would take several hours, and it was already late afternoon.  Jim was not comfortable with trying to navigate at night, and they elected to postpone the trip until the next day.  Instead, they decided to return to Chehery.  Once there they found the side street with the village’s sole inn.  The owner, an elderly widow, recognized them from the night before and welcomed them as long lost friends.  She then insisted they have coffee at a small pastry shop she was fond of.  After taking their bags to the room Jim locked the car and its valuable cargo and they set off for the shop.  The old woman spoke in rapid fire French while Jim and Eve desperately fanned their pocket dictionaries.  All the while trying to keep an eye on where they were walking. 

After an hour, trying but mostly failing to communicate, the old woman’s patience had run out.  She claimed a trip to the market was necessary and fled the shop.  Jim and Eve settled into a comfortable silence.  Finally, breaking the mood, Eve suggested they go over everything they knew.  Maybe they could figure out who knew they were in Cheveuges and how the man with the gun knew their name.  After thirty minutes of bending the truth to an unrecognizable series of events they gave up.  It was hopeless.  They met with a similar lack of success when they tried to figure out how they’d been followed let alone who had done it.  Ten minutes later they paid their bill and began the short walk back to their inn.

“I’d like to get back to Paris first thing tomorrow.  This feels like it’s getting dangerous,” Eve said as they walked along the early evening streets.  “We’ve got what we came for, we think anyway.” 

Jim didn’t reply immediately.  After a few moments, more to himself than to Eve, he muttered, “I wonder what’s in that other box?” 

“I’ll bet it’s a crown,” Eve replied without hesitation.  “Remember Jean mentioned some type of different crown used by the Kings.  And some other type of relic, Holy Water or something.  It would make sense if that sword is the one Bill Rousseau described.  The Sword of Charlemagne he called it.” 

Jim looked at her and smiled.  “I don’t know why everyone says you’re so dumb.  I’ll bet you’re right.  Let’s check it out when we get back to the room.”

II

“Marcil, sa me.”  The Corsican was speeding to Sedan.  He was staying at one of the finer hotels in the city, and he had a date with a nice young man this evening.  He didn’t intend to be late.  “They have two boxes.  Both are in the boot of their car.  I do not know if they have opened both boxes.  They have certainly opened the larger one.  They know of the sword.” 

Marcil was furious at this news and began to shout.  After a few moments the Corsican interrupted.  “My friend, it is not so bad.  They must return to Paris.  I will find their hotel, recover your items and ensure they never leave the city.” 

This did not placate Marcil.  “But mon ami tonight is impossible.”  Already the Corsican could see his plans for the evening were unraveling.  “But Marcil, how will I know where they are staying tonight.”  He listened intently, finally, concealing his anger he agreed.  “D’accord….Claude followed them last night did he not?  I will find them.”  Marcil had stopped shouting and was more understandable.  “Good, that is probably where they went tonight.  I’ll pay them a visit, retrieve your property and tomorrow we shall have a nice dinner, n’est pas?” 

It worked.  Marcil was calmer.  He had stopped making ludicrous demands.  He was thinking again.  Finally, satisfied that Marcil was comfortable with his plan the Corsican relaxed and ensured that Marcil didn’t take him completely for granted.  “Oh, and Marcil, I would appreciate it very much if you would send flowers to Claude’s service.  He met an untimely end early this evening.” 

The Corsican’s thumb flicked a button on his steering wheel.  The call ended.  His evening in Sedan was ruined.  He was not happy.

III

The Corsican drove slowly through the center of Chehery. He spotted the restaurants, the police station sign on the village hall and just one block off the main street what appeared to be a short residential street that had metamorphosed into a series of small shops.  The first building in the line was an ancient two-story home that had been converted into the village’s only inn.  Parked in the driveway stood the American’s rented Citroën.  He smiled.  It really had been too easy.

Behind the old building, for the length of the street, ran a dirt alleyway.  Here the trash barrels and owner’s vehicles were parked.  Stopping his car in the dirt alley behind the inn he examined the building.  Seeing no one he slipped into the tiny backyard of the building.  Opening the back door he entered the kitchen.  Quietly moving across the kitchen he came to a door equipped with spring loaded swing hinges.  Here he faced the largest risk.  He paused, pulled his pistol from its holster and screwed on the long silencer.  Then, slowly pushing the door open he stepped into the next room.  It was a large dining room with an ancient wooden table.  The room’s walls were covered with equally ancient, slightly browning wallpaper depicting a hunting scene.  On his far right another door marked with a brass plaque that said “Privé.”  It had to be to the owner’s suite.  He pushed the door open and checked the two small rooms.  Empty.

The front foyer of the house had been converted to a lobby, with a large roll top desk serving as the proprietor’s work station.  Swinging the ledger around he quickly reviewed the most recent entries.  Business was slow.  It appeared there were four rooms upstairs.  Only one room was occupied tonight - by a Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw.

Jim and Eve’s room was a modest affair.  A double bed sat against the west wall.  The door to the room opened directly across from the bed on the east wall.  Entering the room, just to the left of the door stood a small wash basin.  On the right, and covered from view when the door opened sat a lounge chair with lamppost.  It was in this chair that the Corsican decided to wait.  He sat down, pulled a magazine from the table and began to read, his silenced pistol on the arm of the chair.

Chapter 38

I

It had been a cool evening and Jim and Eve were glad to be back at the inn.  The owner wasn’t back yet, probably afraid she’d be obligated to attempt to talk to them again.  Jim was sure she spoke French with a heavy German influence since both he and Eve could make out only every fourth or fifth word.  Or maybe she was partially deaf.  Or maybe their French really was that bad, and everyone until now had simply been nice to them.  But the fact remained, they hadn’t struggled with the language nearly as much before today. 

As he unlocked the door Eve asked Jim if he thought either of the names in the wallet were real.  Jim stepped into the room, tossed the room key on the bed and began to shut the door behind Eve.  “I don’t know, but I sure wish we knew who he was.” 

“His name was Claude Rechaud; and he worked for the same man I do,” the Corsican said as the door closed revealing him sitting in the cushioned chair. 

Jim and Eve both jumped at the sound of an unexpected voice.  Spinning around they spotted the end of a pistol barrel only a few feet from Jim’s chest.

“Who the hell are you?” Jim cried.

“Ah, let us simply say I am a man interested in history, just as you are.”  The Corsican replied.  “I do hope our mutual interests are profitable.  But first, Monsieur and Madame, before we talk, I need a slight favor.” 

“I don’t do favors for thugs,” Jim replied through clenched teeth. 

“Sir, it is nothing really.  But, I believe you took a weapon from my associate, Monsieur Claude Recheau?  As you know, guns can be very dangerous.  I need to know where that weapon is now.  Think carefully how you answer sir.  A mistake would be disastrous for you…and your wife.”

Jim began to see the situation could spin out of control rapidly.  Besides surely the man had searched the room.  “The gun is in the night stand.  Now, what do you want?” 

The man continued as if this were a totally normal occurrence.  “Very good.  A wise place to keep it.  Now, s’il vous plaît, I believe you have two items that my associates believe would be more properly employed in their care.  As I recall, they are in the boot of your car.”

Jim glanced at Eve.  Another mystery.  Who was this man, and how did he know about the boxes?  The man continued, “We are going to go quietly downstairs and unlock your car.  I should be very grateful if you would then transfer them to my car.”

Eve stared at the dark skinned, smiling, youngish man.  He was pointing a small gleaming chrome pistol with a long tube, it could only be a silencer, at them.  He was as casual and calm as a man walking his dog.  He wore double pleated pin stripped pants, a dark, what appeared to be, silk shirt and a fashionable leather jacket.  She glanced at Jim.  “What’s going on here?  Are you the police?  We want to speak to the police.  Do you understand?” Eve insisted. 

“Madame, we will not be speaking to the police.”  He said very matter-of-factly, neither he, nor the pistol moving.

“Then I guess the question is who are you, and who do you work for?” Jim replied instantly, also not moving. 

“I am, what you would call, an independent contractor.  It is my job to…I guess one would say, ensure corporate success in a dynamic business environment.”  Again, a big smile.  “Now, please follow my instructions without fail, and we will not have, ah…we will not have a failed business relationship.”  At that he smiled again, seemingly pleased with his corny business analogies.

The man stood, grew serious and opened the door.  “After you Madame,” he said looking at Eve. 

The three of them descended the stairs.  Jim fervently prayed the old woman hadn’t returned to her inn yet.  He could only see a tragic outcome if she had.  They reached the dining room.  The man quickly checked the owner’s salon, the kitchen and then peeked out each of the room’s windows.  Finding no one, he waived Jim and Eve forward.  They exited the rear of the building and proceeded to their rental car. 

In a fashion that could only be described as overly polite the man gave instructions for the car to be unlocked.  The two boxes were to be picked up and carried to a chocolate brown Mercedes S parked in the alley.  Doing exactly as directed, Jim and Eve placed the boxes on the ground next to the Mercedes.  The man pushed a button on his key fob, and the vehicle’s trunk popped open.  Directing Jim to a small storage bin inside the trunk he asked Jim to remove the tool bag.  Inside the bag was a folded plastic bag provided for wrapping a flat tire.  Jim was directed to line the trunk with the bag.  Once satisfied he ordered Jim and Eve to place the two boxes on top of the plastic. 

With a great show of politeness, the stranger asked Jim to sit on the ground with his hands on his head.  He apologized for soiling Jim’s pants.  He removed a length of rope from his trunk and tied Eve’s hands behind her, asking several times if they were too tight, and ensuring he did not cut off the circulation to her hands.  He then helped her get into the backseat of the car.  He tied Jim’s hands the same way and then helped him to his feet.  In what Jim considered an incredibly strange idiosyncrasy, the man then took a brush from the trunk and brushed the dirt from Jim’s pants.  Returning the brush to the trunk he then assisted Jim in getting into the car as well. Jim slid into the back seat and looked at Eve, “Who is this guy?  He’s a friggin’ neat freak!  What the hell is going on?”  Eve simply shrugged her shoulders, her eye’s wide with fear.

Using his key fob the dark skinned stranger locked the car doors.  “Why did he just lock us in here?”  Eve asked more to hear her voice than expecting an answer and kept her eyes following the man as he walked to their car.  The stranger reached the rear of the Citroën and removed the keys from the trunk lock where they had been left.  He then got in the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway. 

“He’s gone!  Help me untie this rope!” Jim turned his back to Eve. 

“Hon, how the hell can I do that?  My hands are tied too!” 

“Turn your back to my back and…I’ll try to untie your hands by feel.”

“That only works on TV.”

“No, no, it will work, go ahead….” 

She cut him off.  “Jim, never mind…there he is.”

The stranger had simply driven around the house and was now coasting past them.  He drove to the end of the alley, parked the Citroën behind a dumpster and was now walking toward them.  In a moment he was opening the door to the car.  The stranger slid into the butter brown leather seats and started the engine.  He backed the car slightly and then shifted to drive, turned hard left and drove out of the small town. 

In a few moments they were on the road and headed south.  “I never thought I’d ride in a Mercedes S, and I sure as hell didn’t expect to be riding in one with my hands tied behind my back!” Jim whispered to Eve.  She looked at him.  For a moment he got the “Are you nuts?” look, then fear returned.  She went back to staring at the back of their driver’s head.  The car simply glided over the road as they drove in the direction of Cheveuges.  A moment later the car’s Bluetooth phone system activated.  The man answered, “Oui,” and a burst of rapid fire French filled the Mercedes.  The driver listened and replied in equally fast French. 

Jim looked at Eve.  She listened intently and whispered, “Something about objects and the Americans.  I think he used the word ‘mort,’ but I don’t know about the rest.  It’s too fast.”  

Jim didn’t like that. ‘Mort’ meant dead in just about any language.  The remainder of the ride was in silence.  Jim and Eve didn’t try to whisper, and the driver hadn’t spoken since the phone call.  After thirty minutes or so they arrived at a small cottage.  The building seemed old as did most of the buildings in this part of France Jim thought.  Again, with great care, the dark skinned man helped Eve and Jim out of the car and escorted them into the cottage.

The building had probably seen more than enough history.  Its exterior walls were fabricated from fieldstone, and its floors were wooden planks.  The planks just over the threshold were well worn from years of grinding boots and shoes.  The exterior door opened into a small, but what in happier circumstances could only be called a ‘friendly’ kitchen.  It didn’t feel friendly now.

II

As Jim and Eve looked around the kitchen he asked them to take seats at the table.  Then he sat down across from them.  Not saying anything he removed a knife from his pocket, opened the blade and began to clean under his fingernails.  Finished with his left hand he switched the knife and began on his right hand.  Without looking up he said, “Monsieur e Madame, I am only going to ask questions once.”  He finished with his right hand.  Then, again without looking up, he carefully placed the knife on the table and sat back in his chair.  After a moment he reached out a long slender finger and gently tapped the backside of the blade.  The knife swung round, perfectly aligning with the lines in the tablecloth.  Without looking up from his examination of the knife and the tablecloth he said, “I expect complete truth.  You cannot fail me in your answers, no?  We will be truthful with each other one hundred percent, no?  If we are not, our business relationship must, of necessity, be altered.  You understand?” 

Jim and Eve were scared.  Eve looked pale, absolutely grey thought Jim.  He began to wonder if they were going to see the next day.  Thinking there was nothing to lose Jim decided to try to confuse and delay the man with the knife.

“Before you ask us any questions, let me ask you what the hell is going on?  That fella Eve smoked in the barn, who was he?  And why did you point a gun at us and tie us up?  What the hell is this all about?” 

Jim was trying hard to delay whatever came next.  He figured his best bet was to go on the offensive.  At least he thought he could get a conversation going.  He’d been taught that if taken hostage get the hostage takers to talk.  He figured that his questions could start that ball rolling.  It was a poor attempt.

“You are in possession of a certain French historical artifact, non?  A tube containing a document,” the man announced.

“Yeah…well…yeah, we used to be, but now it’s at the Louvre in Paris.  They’re authenticating it,” Eve offered. 

“It is?  Well, that is unfortunate.  Tell me, you found a sword.  What do you know about this sword?”

“We don’t know anything.  We didn’t even know we were going to find a sword.  I do know I wish I had that sword in my hand right now!” Jim said. 

“Now, now, Mr. Creen-shaw, you don’t….”  

“Hey, how do you know my name?  That other man knew my name too.  What’s going on here?  I’d like to see the American Council or the local police please.”  Jim knew this sounded ridiculous, but figured it would keep the man talking. 

“It is no matter how I know your name Mr. Creen-shaw,” the man smoothly retorted.

“Wait…You know my name, and I don’t know yours.  And, why can’t you people say CREN SHAW?” asked Jim, grabbing for his delaying tactics again. 

“Oh, forgive me,….Mr. Creen-shaw, as I said, you don’t know…”

“No, no, it’s CREN, not CREEN; CREN, say it, CREN SHAW.”  Jim said. 

Eve looked at Jim.  “He’s out of his mind,” she thought.

“Creen”

“NO, CREN!” Jim did his best to sound offended.

“Oui, Okay, okay.   CREN shaw, is that it?  Now, Mr. Creen…Mr. Crenshaw why did you dig up the two boxes?” the man asked, only now a little taken aback.

“I want to speak to the police,” Jim pressed.

“Sir, clearly you understand that is not going to happen.  Now, please, tell me how you came to discover the two boxes.”  The stranger had not yet completely regained his composure.

“We didn’t know there were two boxes.  We just read that there was something in the stall so we dug.”  Jim switched tactics, figuring he’d give as much as he could without giving anything of value; although he didn’t have a clue what he had of value that the man wanted.  After all, he already had the two boxes. 

“I didn’t, I mean we didn’t know what was in there.  But, it was a just a lark.”

The man looked confused.  “A lark?  A singing bird?”

“No, you know, a lark, just something like an adventure.  We read about this place in my great grandfather’s diary and figured we’d go see what was there.” 

“So you know nothing of what you found?” the man asked.

“NO! Except that we found a sword; and I wish I had it in my hands now!”  Jim allowed his voice to get loud and emotional.  “That’s it.”

The man studied them.  They were clearly just a couple of middle-aged tourists.  What was Marcil thinking?  He stood up.  “Please come with me.”  

“Where to?” Jim demanded. 

“Sir, I do not negotiate, and I do believe that you need to begin to cooperate.  My patience is coming to an end.  Things could look bad for you very quickly…or for Mrs. Creen…Crenshaw.”  The man looked at Eve very seriously.

Jim felt the blood drain from his face.  He glanced at Eve.  Her eyes were on the Corsican.  She didn’t look afraid.  She looked mad.  Jim weighed the options.  Seeing that they really had no choice he finally said, “Alright, lead on.”

The Corsican smiled.  “I like your spirit Mr. Crenshaw.  But, no, you and your wife need to move through that door.”  He then directed them to a narrow staircase and up the steps to the second floor.  There, he escorted them into a small bedroom.  Backing to the door he smiled, turned and walked out of the room.  Jim winced when the Corsican locked the door from the outside.